nine2five 2,11 Wonder Falls
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Chuck is blowing through every course in his training in Prague. Volkoff has thrown Sarah to the wolves, but who's the real predator?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **This one came out a bit short. I never used Pink Slip in this story, the plot was completely wrong for the first season of nine2five. But this season is more about the pieces than the whole, and there are pieces in Pink Slip that I can use. I'm playing a bit loose with the timeframe as well. In this version Chuck has the Intersect under control, so the training moves along faster.

* * *

"_Hopefully she'll come to her senses on the way back." _

"_It's not like we're going to _drive_ to Prague." _

"_Don't chicken out on me now."_

"_Lead the way."_

* * *

Somewhere in Europe, week three…

Sarah considered the advantages of working with criminal scum like Volkoff. In her CIA-driven world, she'd have had to spend weeks and lots of money trying to get this guy Gilles to notice her and bring her close to him, and that was simply as a pretty face. If they were planting her in his company as something more than that, the costs would go up astronomically.

All Volkoff had to do was give her to the man. It was undignified, sure, but she was here, and more than ready to go to work. Then she could wash her hands of this business and go home. Home. Chuck.

She rose from the pool, a blonde goddess in a skimpy white bikini, and paraded herself before her latest mark. The lust in his eyes was distasteful. Chuck had always simply appreciated her, considered himself the luckiest part of a universe that was lucky to have her. She smiled.

Gilles smiled back.

She had to stop thinking of Chuck, she had to stop right now. She should never have put Mrs. Bartowski in the box at the bottom of her soul alone. She couldn't let the likes of Gilles and Alexei taint her real life. Her heart hardened, her thoughts blackened. Her smile stayed the same.

With a gesture he directed her to stop. She stopped, preserving the illusion of control for him. If she was lucky, he would take her to his special room and try to do to her what he was famous for, in certain circles. That would be good. The sooner she could get him away from his bodyguards, the better.

His phone rang.

* * *

Casey was halfway across Poland when she called. The troll had set her ringtone to something he called The Imperial March, and Casey had yet to figure out how to set it back. At least she'd never hear it, that sort of went without saying. "General?"

"Colonel Casey," said Beckman in a scolding voice, "I trust you are on your way back to Prague."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, wondering what Bartowski'd done now.

"Good. Agent Charles' training isn't going as expected. It needs your personal supervision."

_Surely he hadn't washed out already?_ "Yes, ma'am. Any particular issues? They should still be baselining." It was too much to hope for, that Bartowski didn't even reach minimum levels of performance. He'd relied on the Intersect for his entire career, though, so anything was possible.

"I have his first period's results on my desk. His baseline scores were higher than most agents' final grades, Colonel," said the General. "They moved him into the next phase in record time."

Casey gritted his teeth to keep from cursing as his hands clenched the wheel. _Dammit_.

The General continued, unaware, "I need you to get back there and find out how he got assigned to intensive Interrogation Resistance training in his first module."

That wasn't supposed to happen until next week. He was supposed to have been there to control that! "I created his schedule myself, ma'am," he admitted. "It was supposed to look like a clerical error."

"It looks like the real clerks compounded it, then," said Beckman. "Word of advice, Colonel. Leave the screw-ups to the low-ranks. They're the experts."

"Is Chuck all right, ma'am?" he asked, genuinely concerned, and not just about his asset. If Chuck was injured, that would definitely bring Sarah back, but not in a good way.

"At ease, Colonel," said Beckman. "He wasn't hurt too badly."

Vast relief. Casey tried to keep his voice professional. "I hoped he would have the sense to break before they got too far, but he can be stupid that way."

"He hasn't broken yet, either."

"What?" That meant they hadn't aborted the module, as he expected. Casey pulled off, on to the shoulder. "That makes no sense. He's _still_ being interrogated? How can they be torturing him without hurting him?"

"They're not torturing him either, Colonel, except for the first day." Beckman sounded amused. "He keeps escaping."

There must have been something wrong with his phone. "He keeps…?"

"Escaping, yes. Javier upped the stakes on the second day, mentioned a second hostage."

That wasn't amusement in her voice. That was the all-too-familiar anger/pride/amazement he'd felt so often himself. "Let me guess, Chuck tried to rescue him."

"Her."

"Of course it was. Did they even have a second hostage, or did they just play the scream tape?"

"Tape, unfortunately. Not only did Mr. Bartowski do a lot of damage looking for her, when he couldn't find her he took it as a personal and professional failure."

"Oh, God…" _There'll be no stopping him now._

"The personal situation was retrieved at the debrief, but 'save the hostage' appears to have become his new default mode as an agent."

_Of course it did._ Casey put his car back into gear. "Look at it the bright side, General. At least he's resisting interrogation."

* * *

Frost returned to a sight that was becoming ever more familiar and ever less reassuring. Vivian waited with her father, leaning against his desk, learning the family business.

"Ah, Frost," he said. "Everything go well? Package delivered smoothly?"

Something was, as they say, up. "Yes, Alexei. I couldn't have put Agent Walker into his hot and sweaty clutches any faster if he'd been greased." Frost made no secret of her disdain for certain vices. "She probably accomplished her mission before I was out the front gate. I'm supposed to waiting to extract her right now. Why call me back?"

Alexei grinned. "Vivian convinced me that I was thinking far too small, with regard to Agent Walker."

Frost glanced at the younger woman. Her smirk was remarkably subtle. "That's never been a problem of yours, Alexei."

"I know. Strange, isn't it? I took the liberty of notifying several of Gilles' associates in debauchery of his latest acquisition. I suspect they will want to be in on the action. Our little lamb will be quite safe until the wolves have gathered."

"Setting her up to do to many what she would have only done to one," concluded Frost. "Very clever, Miss Volkoff."

Vivian smiled shyly. "Thank you, Frost."

"I will monitor Gilles' communications," said Frost decisively. "This party will take some time to plan, and when it goes down I will need to be there to pick up the pieces, and recover Agent Walker."

"If there's anything to recover." Vivian's tone had nothing shy or smiling about it now.

"There will be, Miss Volkoff," said Frost. "Alexei made a deal."

Vivian turned to her father. "And you're going to keep it?"

"I must. I am Volkoff, and Volkoff stands behind his employees at all times," he said with a growl. "Lesser men cheat. I play by the rules, and I always win." He shrugged. "Besides, a cat doesn't kill his mouse on the very first toss. Where's the fun in that? Miss Walker is going to be _such_ fun!"

"She's an enemy. Isn't this a perfect opportunity to be rid of her?"

"Now who's thinking too small?" said Alexei. "Removing the queen early is a child's move. You must learn to play better than that, Vivian."

Frost watched as Vivian's features stilled, settled. Hardened.

"Yes, Father."

* * *

Week four…

Ellie Bartowski was fat. And frustrated.

And Hungry. Hungry all the time, like the little cantaloupe-sized piglet in there was making up for lost meals. She lay on the couch, stroking the bump in the middle of her belly, eating from the plate of cheese crackers Devon had brought her. So thoughtful, so perfect. She hated his guts right now.

Chuck was being turned into a spy, while his wife was missing…

Devon came back into the room. "Hey, babe, brought you a little lemonade, you look a little parched," he said, setting it down. "Mixed in a little vitamin C powder for the baby, too." He took all of her in, read her face and body language like a book that he loved to read. "What's the matter, El?"

She sighed. "Nothing. Just wallowing."

"Let me know if I can help."

She sat up and sipped her lemonade. He was right, she was thirsty. "You'd help me wallow?"

He flashed her a grin. "Or help you out of it. I'm here for _you, _babe."

She plucked a crumb from the folds of her blouse and threw it at him. "I hate you, honey." She fell back against the arm of the couch.

"Oh, that reminds me, let me get the vacuum."

The TV came on, playing the General Beckman channel.

"On second thought," he said, backing away, "I think it's time for my run. See you later, El, General."

Ellie pulled herself to a sitting position. "What can I do for you, General?"

"You can get yourself to your lab, Doctor. Manoosh just called me with news of a possible breakthrough with your father's computer."

"I don't understand," said Ellie. "Why didn't he just call me himself?"

"The man clearly idolizes you, Eleanor, he would never intrude on what little free time you get. So he called me instead, and I decided it was high time _I_ was the one to pass along the glad tidings for once."

Wallow-time over. "Are you enjoying it?"

"It's refreshing."

Ellie smiled. "Thank you, General." She started gulping her lemonade, otherwise Devon would sulk.

"Just keep me in the loop, if you please, I could use a little genuine good news myself."

Ellie lowered the glass. "What's Chuck done this time?"

* * *

Week six…

The henchman pulled the bag from Chuck's head, mussing up the curls. Chuck glanced his way, resolving to make him pay for that. Only Sarah got to muss up his curls. The man was only an underling, though. Someone larger and fatter sat across from Chuck, someone he'd have to go through, before he could enforce his wife's prerogatives.

Chuck knew quite a lot about him, his likes–torture and pierogies, more or less in that order–and his dislikes, such as peaceful negotiations. "Agent Charles," said Mr. Bigger-and-Fatter, a/k/a Yuri, underboss for this region.

_Still there._ That little hitch in his mind, whenever someone called him by a name that wasn't truly his. "Call me Charles." That was always better, his name, if not his nature. They always thought he was being friendly with the invitation, unaware that he was using the truth as a better class of lie. "You have something that belongs to my boss. That case," he said calmly, indicating the silver briefcase with a motion of his head. "I would like you to give it to me. Please." The 'please' was a good touch, he knew. Guys like this never took 'please' the right way at all.

"You show up with no gun," said the underboss, "And 'please, and what? I am supposed to quiver in fear?"

That would be the smarter move. Only the strongest of predators has the luxury of saying 'please'. In this context 'please' was a threat. Yuri didn't strike Chuck as being very smart. He decided to be less subtle. "Give me the case, _or else,_" he said, tilting his body forward.

Yuri had henchmen to impress. "Or else what?" he asked rhetorically, even though he couldn't spell 'rhetorically'. "Or else I do this?" He pulled his gun and took aim at the unarmed man across from him.

Chuck wasn't really unarmed, of course. It's just that none of the guns in the room were in his hands yet. He changed that, lunging toward Yuri, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of line with his body. As tall as he was, he could easily push Yuri's hand against the bare bulb, and the hand holding the gun flinched open just enough for Chuck to pull it from his grasp.

"Cool, cool, cool," he shouted, Yuri's gun out and aimed before any of the bodyguards could react. "On the ground, nice and easy." They dropped their guns on the floor, and he looked at the boss. "Hand me the case. After that, it's pierogi time."

Underbosses don't stay underbosses very long by letting valuable property go. Yuri knew that, even if Mr. Charles apparently didn't. "So do it," he said, moving forward. "Shoot me."

When Chuck didn't instantly do exactly that, the disarmed henchmen moved in.

* * *

Diane Beckman took lunch in her office these days. Not that she wanted to, but she was running out of restaurants that would let her in the door without making her turn her phone off. Instead, when an operation was laid on for the nighttime hours in Prague, she retreated to her inner sanctum, staring at a fake window of a fake landscape, waiting for the news to break. Mr. Clark had been on a 'beach' kick, of late. She was getting tired of sand.

She ate quickly, knowing she's have no appetite afterward.

Her personal phone rang. This room had been set up without electronics long ago, simply to keep something a secret from Orion, but she decided she liked it this way. Caller ID made identification unnecessary, and she was in no mood for even the simple pleasantries. "How did it go, Colonel?"

"Chuck retrieved the case, as instructed."

"And?"

Casey sighed. "Yuri wet himself. I don't think he's coming back," he said, sounding tired. "The details will be in the report."

Hopefully buried in one of his infamous footnotes. "Did he use the gun at all?"

"Only to zipline over to the other building. He dropped off before he hit the roof, and landed on a balcony two floors below, while all the henchmen were coming out up top. He could have walked to the rendezvous point but he stayed professional the whole way. I called it before it got any more embarrassing than it already was."

"Dammit," she muttered, loud enough to be heard half a world away. "I really thought we had him this time."

* * *

**A/N2 **I know I've said before that I have no idea what's going on in my stories. In most cases, I have a vague idea that hasn't been fleshed out yet. Right now my vague idea for this episode is even vaguer than usual. I'm pretty sure that Chuck and Sarah will be getting together this episode, at least for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **This story finally started talking to me again. Since they didn't really give us any clues in the Gobbler episode as to what Sarah was doing to earn Volkoff's attention, I'm using some of the hints, and fragments from other missions for inspiration. Way back in Pink Slip, Sarah and Casey were working on a bad guy named Gilles, when Chuck came back and ruined their operation. I'm fixing it.

* * *

"_Agent Charles' training isn't going as expected." _

"_Miss Walker is going to be _such_ fun." _

"_What's Chuck done this time?" _

"_Did he use the gun at all?"_

* * *

Somewhere outside Moscow, week five-ish…

Carina lay on a hill overlooking the forest surrounding the bog that lay before Volkoff's country compound and the mountains behind it. This was the only vantage point from which she could watch all the roads in and out at the same time. "This is boring," she said to her field glasses.

"It's about to become less so," said her glasses back. "Satellite images show activity in the compound, and several figures headed your way."

"He knows his own high ground."

"Bug out, Carina."

"Bugging." Carina pressed the button activating the self-destruct. They could have the glasses but the com-link to Bedrock had to be severed. Then she did what she did best, led a bunch of men on a merry chase they wouldn't win.

Some stayed behind, of course, to control the hilltop. They found the glasses, but with most of the men gone they didn't have time to find the miniature optics wired to the tree branches above, before the cars started to emerge from the forest.

* * *

Washington, Week five…

"Good afternoon, Ellie, Manoosh," said General Beckman, nodding politely. "You've had a week to evaluate Manoosh's insight regarding the contents of the laptop, Ellie. Any developments?"

"Yes, General. You just want the overview?"

"Please. His initial report was obscure enough."

"Manoosh's insight was more intuitive than logical, General," said Ellie. "It took me a while to understand it myself, but it has to do with absence, not presence."

Beckman started to rub her head. "Ellie…?"

Ellie sighed. "Manoosh, tell the General where you got the idea."

"I was watching a TV show, General, and this art teacher was talking about representing an object in negative space, basically, drawing the hole that would be left if the object were to disappear, and that reminded me of something I saw in the scanner–"

Beckman stopped rubbing. "You memorized Mr. Bartowski's _brainwave_ patterns?"

Manoosh shook his head. "Not all of them, no, but I was making recordings in LA for a week and you guys were telling me to keep an eye out for weird stuff…"

Ellie cleared her throat.

"Right, moving on, we have recordings from before and after Frost showed him that object in his basement–" he pulled up graphics for comparison "–and we can clearly see some of the waves are altered or missing altogether for the same trigger image." He drew circles in various places. "In some of the scans stored on the laptop, we see the same thing." More scans, more circles. "And finally, in the code on the laptop, we have blocks that look very similar to Intersect code, but modified to do the opposite of what the Intersect code does."

Diane Beckman wasn't the smartest person in this room, but that didn't mean she was dumb. "So you're saying the code on this computer is for the device that Frost found in Orion's basement and used on Chuck?"

"Yes, General, we think so," said Ellie, "But if that's true, something very strange is going on."

Beckman didn't bat an eye. "Any other day, that'd be true."

"My brother uploaded the first version of the Intersect when he was nine, General, but the create dates on some of these files are from before he was born."

* * *

Europe, week five…

A surprisingly delicate foot, bearing an expensive high-heeled shoe, emerged from the doorway of the car, and then the second. A lucky doorman held out a hand, and the beautiful blonde passenger inside took it with a surprisingly strong grip. She rose slowly, displaying the full length of her gown-clad body for his delectation, while his face struggled to stay professionally neutral.

Sarah got out of the limo, with a gentle smile on her face. _Gilles must be ready to explode!_ Not with lust, never that, but self-torture with an untouchable beauty was part, only the first part, of his MO. The second part involved extensive touching with said beauty, after which she wasn't beautiful anymore.

The gown wasn't nearly as restrictive in its cut as it had been when she'd first tried it on. Firm, tight stitches had been replaced by loose basting with cheap thread. Not everywhere, just where she might need it. Only the shoes, necklace, and matching bracelet were as they had been when she took them out of the box.

Jealousy ran rampant throughout the club as they entered, Sarah could see it on every face. Men wishing they were in Gilles' place, women wishing to be in hers. _If they only knew._ She was doing them a favor, keeping Gilles all to herself tonight.

A firm hand strummed the guitar from the stage, and she looked up, a happy anticipation of dancing on her face. The guitarist was tall and broad-shouldered, handsome under a mop of curly brown hair. His fingers flickered effortlessly over the strings as the smile died on her face. She let Gilles guide her to their table submissively, no longer interested in dancing.

At the back of the crowd sat a woman with no sign of jealousy on her face. Between the shadows and a scarf, Carina's bright red hair had drawn no notice either. She took a picture of Gilles with her phone, and emailed it to a friend.

* * *

Moscow, week five…

"Father?"

"Yes, my pet?"

Vivian frowned, either at the peculiar choice of diminutive, or the casual, almost offhand way in which it was delivered. "Have you seen Frost? We were supposed to engage in small arms practice tonight."

"Hmm?" He looked up from whatever held his attention so thoroughly on the screen. "Oh, no gunplay tonight, Vivian darling. Gilles' little circle of friends has finally gathered itself." He gestured at his screen, and chuckled. "Soon these wolves will try to remove our little lamb's clothing, and what do you think they will find underneath?"

_Preferably little lamb guts. _Vivian came around to look at the screen. Agent Walker sat front and center, framed in some long-distance lens somewhere. Frost, watching and waiting, as always. Her father, eagerly anticipating the results of his endless machinations. His version of fun.

His.

He droned on, naming names, pointing out soon-to-be-dead enemies, but she heard none of it.

* * *

If the beautiful blonde in the snug dress found anything amiss in the many cars that followed them into her paramour's driveway, she didn't show it. "Gilles?"

"My dove, these are some friends of mine. We rarely gather, but tonight we have decided to do so, in your honor." He bowed.

Sarah blushed, trying to project a sense of false modesty.

"Tonight," Gilles continued, "We will open my special room, to show you all the delights contained inside." Not that they would be delights for her.

"Now you've got me all excited," said Sarah, looking around. "I've been dying to know what's in there."

The onlookers laughed.

Gilles offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it. "We shall."

As the procession made its way downstairs, to the heavy timber-and-iron door that Gilles always kept locked, servants scurried for higher ground. The Master's party paused at the door, as Gilles produced a large key and turned the ancient lock. "After you, my dear."

The other guests crowded into the room behind Sarah, and Gilles closed the door himself, its sound of 'doom' as it closed signaling the beginning of his ritual.

"Gilles?" Sarah said nervously, staring at the implements scattered about. "What's all this…stuff?" She pointed at a low platform along the far wall, with an armed man standing on it. "Who's that?"

"That's the one servant of mine you've never seen. His name is Helmut." Gilles smiled. "Go to him, my dear, he will prepare you."

Sarah shrank back. "Prepare me for what? I don't want to go up there."

Gilles put a reassuring hand on her back. "Really, my dear, I think it would be best if you simply _did what you were told!"_ He shoved her hard, and she stumbled over the low steps. Helmut gripped her hair and pulled her up onto the stage, shrieking.

One of the guests handed Gilles a glass of wine. He wet his lips with a sip. "You will begin by removing your gown."

"Sweetie?"

"_Now!"_

The beauty queen, the strutting diva, was beginning to realize the falseness of her power over men. Her hands crossed in front of her, scant protection. "In front of everybody?" she asked in a small voice.

The guests laughed. Gilles smiled. "Helmut will help you, if you like."

Helmut pulled out a knife.

Sarah shrank back, and unzipped her gown, stepping out of the crumpled folds in her underwear. Her hands drifted back to cover herself.

Helmut put the knife away and picked up the gown, hanging it carefully on a small rack.

"Next, your shoes," said Gilles, sipping his wine.

She stepped out of her heels, suddenly so much smaller, and Helmut put them on a shelf next to the dress.

Gilles turned to his guests. "What say you? Necklace or bracelet?"

The assembled onlookers voted for the necklace. Gilles turned to Sarah and raised an expectant brow. Sarah reached up and unclasped the jewelry. Bringing her hands down, she held them out imploringly. "Gilles, please…"

"Give it to Helmut, you little trollop. _Now!_"

Helmut reached for the necklace, and Sarah spun. Looping the necklace around his neck, her spin pulled the strangling wire viciously tight, the way that it would stay for the rest of his short, short life. A faithful servant to the last, even as he died he covered the gun, exposing the knife. Sarah threw it, and the guard by the door fell, making sure it would stay closed for her. The guests could not get away and their own guards could not get any closer, not that any of them had time to try. Sarah wheeled and grabbed her shoes, snapping off the heels. With their steel cores they were no less deadly than any of her knives, and then the last two guards were down.

Helmut was faithful unto death, but no further, and he didn't resist as Sarah took his gun. With that weapon she was surprisingly less accurate. The bullet for Gilles bounced off his belt buckle, shattering up into his belly in several jagged pieces. Not everyone had heavy buckles like his, but they all had ribs, pelvises, spines, which did pretty much the same job, only from the inside.

Someone tapped on the door, lightly.

Sarah stepped off the platform, walking barefoot and almost naked through the writhing mob. She pushed the dead guard to one side and opened the door for Frost.

Volkoff's lieutenant made no move to come in. "Ready?"

Sarah's face was a mask. She turned like a woman in a dream. "Mm-hmm." She walked back to Gilles, fiddling with her bracelet, popping off one of the beads.

"Gilles?" She knelt and looked into his eyes, grabbing his hair to make sure she had his attention. "I have a message for you from Alexei Volkoff." She shoved the bead in his mouth, down his throat. He retched and she pulled her fingers back before he could close his mouth. "Apology accepted."

She stood and turned back to Frost. "How long?"

"Ten seconds once it hits his stomach."

"Plenty of time." She mounted the platform, got her dress, and walked back, popping and crushing beads as she went. Once exposed the air, the contents would explode after a few seconds. If exposed to stomach acid, they would explode _more_.

She pulled the heavy door shut and donned her dress. "Satisfied?"

Frost's satisfaction wasn't the issue, and her face showed it. "_Alexei_ will be pleased at your attention to detail." She pulled up the zipper.

Sarah shrugged the compliment off. "Which one do you think will go off first?"

Something went _crump! _on the other side of the door.

"Does it matter?" asked Frost, walking away.

* * *

Carina watched as smoke started to billow from the upper floors, followed by flames. _That's my Sarah._

* * *

Sarah anticipated trouble exiting the mansion, but Frost had already had a word with the bodyguards, and they were gone in search of new employment. The less-than-loyal servants scurried about, busier than ever, stripping the house of all the valuables they could carry. They hadn't looked Sarah in the face before, and they didn't now.

Frost's car was nowhere near the house, which was good, since the servants were stealing all the cars. They sat for a moment, watching the mansion burn. "Good work," said Frost.

"Thank you, said Sarah.

"Let me see your arm."

Sarah looked down, A drop of bleed had somehow managed to make its way to her wrist. She held it out.

Frost wiped up the drop with a tissue. "There," she said. "All better."

* * *

Prague, week seven…

Chuck sat alone at his table, eating his breakfast. He didn't look up, what was the point. It was like High School all over again, except he had Morgan to sit with then.

Someone thumped a tray down across from him and that got his attention. "You don't mind sitting at the 'fat kid' table, Casey?"

"I'm NSA, what do I care what a bunch of CIA snotnoses think?" Casey added some salt to his plain oatmeal. "Look around you, Agent Charles. You're the Olympic athlete in a room full of fat kids. They're all just waiting for you to fail, probably got a pool going."

"How much are _you_ in for?"

"Nothing." Casey spooned up a bit of glop and sucked it down. "You've been failing steadily since you got here."

Chuck didn't fail at keeping his face straight, his voice low. "That's ridiculous. They haven't thrown anything difficult at me since the second week."

Spoon hit bowl, the way Casey wished he could whack his asset upside the head. "Do you know what the whole point of training is, Charles?"

Chuck held up a piece of overcooked bacon. "I hope it's more than this."

Casey crushed it. "It's to fail. You fail, practice and fail some more, until you succeed. You haven't been failing at any of the scenarios, but you've sure as hell been failing at the training."

"Like it's my fault these scenarios are so easy."

"They're not easy, you're missing the point."

"What was the point of Yuri?" His most recent nemesis. Hadn't seen him around in a while, though.

No reason not to tell him. They'd already exercised the Bartowski option. Again. "To put you in a position where you'd have to shoot your way out."

"I've shot people."

"In the foot, to save someone else, not just yourself," said Casey. "Or with a tranq gun. Nothing that'll leave a mark."

"I don't want to leave a mark!"

"Well someday you're gonna have to, Bar-_Charles_, and it's best you do it here," Casey gestured at the hall around them. "My daughter got her first kill and threw up in the middle of an enemy compound. She got lucky. That's not a good place for it."

Chuck picked up his juice. "How is Alex, by the way?"  
"She's doing good, thanks. Aced her driving skills course."

"Excellent. Pass along my congratulations, please."

Casey smiled. "I will, thanks." Smile turned to snarl. "Get your head in the game, Charles." He spooned up some more glop, sat masticating thoughtfully. "It'll only be worse for _you_."

"Why me? Won't the…you know…?" Chuck made a circle in the air around his head.

"That's my point, Charles. When you do finally learn the facts of life, you're good enough that you'll be up against fifty opponents, not just one. Against one guy, maybe you can guarantee a wound instead of a kill, but against fifty?" Casey shook his head. "And you won't know which ones, either, so it may as well be all of them. Good luck sleeping after _that_ day."

Sarah didn't have many nightmares anymore but the ones she did have left them both shaken, and she said they used to be worse. Chuck put his glass down. "So what's the play?"

"Don't worry," said Casey, with an evil little smile. "I have a plan."

* * *

**A/N2 **Unfortunately for Chuck, he does.

I hope whoever you are reading this, that you will take a second to click the review button and leave a word or two about the stories you read here, not just mine but everybody's. (It's actually more than a second, I know, I read on my phone and signing in to leave a review is a pain. You can leave one without signing in, but I like to respond to my reviewers, so I hope you'll take the extra time.) With Chuck ended the number of readers and reviewers is going down steadily, and some of us feel a bit like we're playing to an empty theater. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **I asked for comments with the last chapter and many of you have stepped up already. Thank you. Since I can't respond to some of them directly I'll reply here.

RAB: Sarah went back because whether she trusted Frost or not, she had to be there to find out about Hydra. Beckman certainly would have expected it of her. Plus she's not quite rational. She fought Carina and Ellie to support their covers, not knowing that Carina had an antitoxin for her. As to how this whole situation will ultimately play out, I have some milestones for that, but no firm idea of the road I'll have to walk to get there. I'll try to make it good.

Slider: I love inventive Chuck too. That will be his great strength as an agent, that he never does what you expect.

ChuckFan19: Glad to know you're still out there. I hope my work keeps you coming back for a long time to come.

* * *

"_Bug out, Carina."_

"_Prepare me for what?" _

"_Apology accepted."_

"_I have a plan."_

* * *

The door opened quickly, and a hand flipped the light switch before its owner, John Casey in this case, had even come entirely through the doorway. He caught a faceful of pillow and a kick to the chest. Pinned against the wall with an arm against his throat, he pulled the pillow from his face to see Chuck, blinking in the light as he became aware of what he was doing. Casey grunted his approval. "Good, you're up."

Chuck backed off. "Huh?"

"Get it in gear, Bartowski, we've got a mission."

"I'm in training."

"Not tonight you're not. One of ours was captured and we finally got a hit on her location. You and I are the closest grown-ups."

Chuck grabbed his go-bag, he'd change on the way.

* * *

In the car, Chuck unzipped his bag.

"Change in the back, Bartowski," said Casey, eyes on the road. "It's bad enough I have to see your scrawny self on the track every day."

Chuck zipped the bag and dropped the seat. "You're absolutely right, Casey." He pushed against the floor and slid backwards into the back seat. "And besides, I did promise Sarah that she would be the only woman to ever see me naked."

Casey started to turn his head. "You didn't just say that…"

"A little privacy, if you don't mind," said Chuck. "Indulge your curiosity about man-parts some other time."

Casey snapped his head forward. "If I wanted to see little-boy-parts, Bartowski, I might look at you. To see man-parts, I'd look in a mirror."

"Oh, did you finally have that operation you were talking about?"

Casey ground his teeth together. He didn't have a snappy comeback for that one. _Damn, but the kid learned fast!_

"Hey, that's one for me," said Chuck into his mentor's silence.

"Oh, sorry to hear that, Chuck," said Casey. "Most boys your age have two."

"And he hits a home run!"

_Nuts! _The only thing worse than losing to Chuck was winning because he let you. "Shut up," said Casey. "Better yet, study these." He threw some papers in the back like discarded coffee cups. "We got some overheads, and a couple of commercial shots of the property. Plan your entry, you're going in alone."

Playtime was over, having served its purpose. Chuck got down to business. It really _was_ just the two of them, with the life of another agent on the line.

* * *

"Approaching the wall now."

Casey scanned the front fortification with his NV scope. "I don't see you."

"The back wall."

That's what you get for not reviewing the plan of someone who makes a career out of finding non-obvious solutions to obvious problems. "The back wall's six feet higher than the front wall, idiot," Casey fumed. "Didn't you see the slope? Why are you going back there?"

"Because it's six feet higher than the front wall, Dirt–um, Casey. Fewer guards."

"No need for guards, plus did you perhaps forget we didn't bring any grappling–" Casey checked the focus. "What the hell are you doing?"

"They're called stilts, Casey. They cleared the lower slope back to the woods but not into the woods. Wasn't hard to find branches the right height."

"Bartowski, do you even _consider_ doing things the normal way?"

"Oh, I consider it Casey," said Chuck. "I just don't do it. Now silence please. The ground is beginning to rise here and I need to focus. I've never stilt-walked before."

_He's never…_Casey maintained radio silence, whacking his head against the window.

"I'm up," said Chuck softly.

Casey scanned. "No visual."

"I'm behind the house. I'll circle around for entry."

"There's a guard coming around your way."

The radio tapped twice.

A few moments later Casey saw Chuck coming around the corner. "You take him out?"

One tap.

"Good." When they didn't know the schedule, it was better to let the enemy go on thinking they hadn't been penetrated, than leave a body behind and let them know they had been.

Within seconds Chuck was gone from sight, and Casey put his scope down.

"No servants around," said Chuck quietly. "I hear something. Looking for a way downstairs."

"Why downstairs?" asked Casey.

"Better soundproofing. I'd hear more if they were upstairs."

"Probably why there are no servants where you are."

Chuck tapped twice, no need for a verbal response to that. A few moments later, he spoke again. "Entrance to the lower level in the billiards room. Going down now."

* * *

Washington DC, seven time zones away…

"Good evening, General," said Morgan. "Mr. Montgomery." He nodded politely to regular customers, as always. "Is this a late lunch or an early dinner?"

"I'm still on duty, Mr. Grimes," said General Beckman.

Morgan turned to his number one guy. "Sam, make sure the secure table is prepared right away."

"It's ready now, Mr. Grimes."

Morgan smiled. "Where would I be without you, Sam? This way, General." He led them to their table personally.

"You run a very efficient restaurant, Mr. Grimes," said the General approvingly, as Roan pulled out the chair for her.

Morgan pulled out a chair for Roan. "It's like I always say, General, a respected staff, is a loyal and efficient staff." He leaned in close, and dropped his voice. "I have a directive from the manager about your phone…"

She sighed, appreciating his discretion. "I will maintain a decorous presence in your establishment at all times, Mr. Grimes."

"Thank you, General." He stood up. "And here is your server, so I will leave you in her capable hands. Enjoy your meal."

* * *

The stairs were wide, and carpeted. Clearly the place hadn't been built with torture chambers in the design, otherwise the floors would be stone and the guards would have a clear view of the only entrance. The sound was still louder down below than up above. Any guards down here would have to be pretty nasty customers to be willing to listen to that, so he prepared to treat them accordingly.

He found them before they found him, simply by looking around corners with his dental mirror at ground level, while they were watching for him to come blundering around the corner at eye level. Idiots. He took them out with a couple of well-aimed tranq darts, and locked them in a closet.

Wow, that door was a stunner, it practically defined low-tech. No card-keys or lockpicks for this one, maybe a crowbar, or a screwdriver.

_Wait a minute._ This was a prison door. The hinges were on the outside.

No prison door would have a keyhole on the inside, so either a) the guys inside really trusted the guards outside to let them out again, or b) the door was open. He tugged the handle, expecting some kind of inner latch.

It pulled open. The hinges didn't even squeak.

The room within was done up in an ancient style but with modern tools. The 'torches' were low-intensity bulbs, with the flickering simulated somehow. The place smelled more of new wood than of old blood.

The man on the platform wore a mask, the men crowded around on the floor didn't, but they weren't looking his way. They watched as the hooded man lifted his whip and slammed it down again, with a sound of leather on flesh. All Chuck could see of the woman were her arms, her wrists cuffed and chained to the ceiling. The chains were taut, clearly carrying her whole weight. She groaned, too weak even to scream.

The hooded man stepped forward and grabbed her brown hair, pulling her head up. She was blindfolded but not gagged. Hard to get a victim to spill their guts if they couldn't speak. He growled in her ear, "Thank you for resisting, Agent Rizzo."

Chuck aimed and fired before he knew it, wiping out the crowd of onlookers in one burst. The gun clicked empty.

The man on the stage heard the click and saw his audience fall. He dropped his whip and went for his gun.

Chuck pushed the door behind him fully open, blinding the man with the bright light from the hall outside. He crouched and ran, the other man's poorly-aimed shot going wild. Chuck charged across the floor and up the steps, body-slamming the hooded man against the stone wall. The torturer slip down the wall, limp, and Chuck let him fall.

"Agent Rizzo?" he said gently. She hung limp in her chains, her back striped red and pink. She hadn't been stripped, exactly, but her blouse had definitely seen better days. Chuck wrapped a long arm around her waist, supporting her as he fumbled with the straps. "Agent Rizzo. I'm Agent Charles."

"Charles?" she asked softly.

One down. "Yes, that's me." He switched to her other side.

"Get me out of here, Charles."

Not very polite for a rescuee but he could forgive her for that. "Working on it."

The strap came loose and her arm swung down. "Thank–ah!"

"Sorry." He looked down at her back, where he'd lightly brushed up against it. "If I carry you it's going to hurt."

She moved her feet under her, taking some of the weight off his arm. "I can walk."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Give me a gun."

"You don't need it, the bad guys are all down."

"Give me a gun, Charles."

He reached around for his holdout. "You know I shouldn't, you've been traumatized."

"_Just give me the goddamned gun!"_

He pulled it out, handed it over. "Fine, jeez, here." He let her stand on her own, and went to the stairs. "Let me give you a hand down."

She aimed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. The gun went _bang!_

Chuck didn't fall.

She looked at the pistol in her hand. The weight felt right for live rounds, not blanks. "What the hell?"

"Oh come on," said Chuck. "You couldn't even wait five minutes to stab me in the back?"

She threw the gun at him, grabbing a knife from the tray as he dodged. "Now there's an idea."

* * *

The General's phone trilled. She put down her fork and knife deliberately, taking a deep breath before she picked it up. "Hello?"

* * *

Casey entered the torture chamber, taking in the sight of all the wreckage. _That didn't take long._ Still, it was a decent scenario, they'd probably rebuild. He looked around for whoever was still standing.

Chuck had Rizzo pinned against a wall, arm twisted behind her back. She couldn't use the knife, but he couldn't let go.

"Stalemate," said Rizzo.

"I can see that," said Casey. "It's over."

Chuck stepped back immediately, releasing her arm, as the unconscious bad guys suddenly turned into conscious good guys. One of them handed Rizzo a fresh shirt. Chuck and Casey both turned, to find themselves side-by-side, a screen to give Agent Rizzo some privacy as she changed.

Casey pulled out his phone, pressed speed dial. "Good evening, General…the scenario is finished..yes, ma'am, I'm giving him a solid B…yes, ma'am, have a good evening."

"A 'B', Casey?"

"Agent Rizzo, if you're ready? Agent Charles, perhaps we can take this to the briefing room down the hall while _everybody else–_" Casey swung his gaze over all the plebes listening in "–gets to work restoring the room." Suddenly everyone was very busy. "Agents?"

After they left, the plebes high-fived themselves. Agent Charles got a 'B'. Yeah! And the most burning question of all: who won the pool?

* * *

Washington DC, in a secure dining room…

"Good news, General?"

"Mr. Grimes, I am not in the habit of passing out classified information to lower management," said Beckman. "However, you will be pleased to know that your best friend is finally beginning to make some progress in his training."

"Yes," said Morgan. "Thank you, General. Your dessert is on me."

* * *

In the briefing room…

"What have you got for us, Rizzo?"

"Uh, Casey, what about the debrief?" _A 'B'? A Bartowski never gets a 'B'._

"What about it, moron? You couldn't hit a girl. That's not news. We've got bigger fish to fry than why you're not dead."

"He should be," said Rizzo. "He gave me a loaded gun, and I shot him at point-blank range."

Casey frowned at Chuck. "You gave a possibly-turned hostage a loaded weapon?"

"She was well past the time limit for possible Stockholm Syndrome, and anyway you never said I could trust her, so no."

Rizzo's face said _Yes_. "I think I can tell the difference between real bullets and blanks."

"I took the bullets out of real cartridges, they still weigh more. Technically blanks, I suppose…"

"A tranq pistol and a holdout full of blanks…" muttered Casey.

"It's a variation on the Morgan."

Casey covered his eyes.

"What's the Morgan?" asked Rizzo.

"It's a defensive posture," said Casey, before Chuck could get into the true history. "Properly executed, no attack stands a chance. It even has a couple of kills to its credit."

"A defense?"

"Please don't ask. Just…show us what you got."

Rizzo recognized a stonewall when she heard one. "Fine." She pulled a stick from her pocket, and plugged it into the computer station. On the projection screen, a scene from a nightclub appeared, a beautiful blonde in the center, a number of male faces scattered around her, circled in red.

"Who are the men?" asked Chuck.

"Criminals and sexual predators," said Rizzo. "They were recently killed as a group."

Casey nodded. "The scenario you just did is based on the remains."

"Remains?"

"Sarah was very thorough."

Rizzo looked back and forth. "You know Agent Walker?"

"It's Agent Charles, now," said Chuck, with a smile.

Rizzo flinched. Her face hardened, lips white. "That bitch."

"Be careful how you talk about my wife." Chuck turned his back on her, looked at the photo.

"I'm talking about Carina," said Rizzo. "She could at least have warned me what kind of a rat's nest she was sending me into. 'Little favor' my ass."

"Don't mind him," said Casey. "She went undercover, this is the first he's seen of her since. Why you?"

Rizzo looked over at Chuck, then back to Casey. "You'll have to ask Carina, if I don't kill her first. I'm out of here. I'll send you my observations."

Casey didn't try to stop her. He went and stood by his partner's shoulder instead. "Three weeks," he said, referring to the timestamp.

Chuck's voice was a whisper. "Why doesn't she call?"

* * *

Volokoff's compound, week five…

She woke to the sound of an alert. "Frost here."

"We have movement in the pipes," said a guard. "You told us to alert you at any unusual sign."

"You have done well," said Frost. "Tell me your name, and the location of the move…motion."

A short time later, Frost was fully dressed, walking into the guest wing. The building was more than usually quiet. Alexei had taken his daughter off to the theater, to see his favorite play, whose name, like his own, was never uttered by those with any knowledge. He was a sponsor, so they performed it often, and he'd seen it every time, and of course she'd had to be there with him. She hated that play, so she was more than happy to miss it tonight.

The light shone under the door. She knocked. "Agent Walker?"

She didn't hear a reply, but she heard something else, the sound of water. The tub was running at full strength, and had been for the last quarter hour.

She opened the door. The light she'd left on after she'd poured Agent Walker into bed was still lit, but the bed was unoccupied. Frost went to the bathroom.

Sarah knelt in her underwear, on the floor by the tub. In the dark, the only light coming from outside. She held her hands into the tub, under the water, scrubbing and clawing at them frantically. "It doesn't come off," she whispered. "It doesn't come off. It doesn't come off."

To leave now, or even to keep silent, would be to seal her own damnation. Frost took a step into the room, but Sarah didn't look up, didn't see her. _Eyes open, senses shut._ "What doesn't come off?"

"It doesn't come off. It doesn't come off," said Sarah. "So much blood. It doesn't come off."

_She hears, at least. _Frost knelt by Sarah, spoke softly into her ear. "You're hurting yourself. They're as clean as they ever will be." So much blood on both their hands, and no, it didn't come off.

Sarah kept rubbing. "It doesn't come off." Tears fell, her whole body started to shudder in Frost's arms.

"You're a professional, this is the job," said Frost. "We do what must be done, no matter what anyone else may think." She'd stood alone for twenty years. She feared age, and time, not weakness.

"I need him. I can't touch him. There's so much blood. So much blood."

Chuck. Husband and son. A good man in a foul, foul business, a business both mother and wife had moved Heaven and Earth to keep him out of, and failed.

Frost reached out, covered Sarah's hands with her own under the hot water. "If I could take it from you I would, but some stains just don't wash off." And her hands were fouler than Sarah's could ever be.

Sarah seized Frost's hands under the water in a painfully tight grip. "No! No!"

Frost had long since resigned herself to her fate, but she didn't want company, and Sarah didn't want solitude. Sympathy wasn't what Sarah needed tonight, or ever. Frost needed to play a different role for her daughter-in-law's sake. Hopefully she knew the right words for it. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Please…"

Frost stroked Sarah's hair, unused to comfort, or comforting. "I can't help you, souls are beyond me." _I barely have one myself_. She closed her eyes. "We'll get you back to him, and he _will_ forgive you, I know he will." _He might even forgive _me_, someday._ "Have faith in him, if not in yourself."

Sarah collapsed in her arms, beyond her own strength to stay upright. Frost held her more tightly, Sarah's head against her chest. _Lub. Dub._

So familiar, so painful. It had been so long since she'd held anyone this way, allowed anyone to get so close. And a daughter, to boot. _How very fitting._

Slowly Sarah's breathing eased toward sleep.

Frost looked down on her with something like tenderness, or sorrow. She stroked Sarah's unnaturally black hair, deep in thought, and in silence.

* * *

**A/N2 **My apologies to Mr. Shakespeare for shredding one of his most famous scenes so thoroughly.

All in all, a bit different from the canon Pink Slip, eh?

I hope whoever you are reading this, that you will take a second to click the review button and leave a word or two about the stories you read here, not just mine but everybody's. (It's actually more than a second, I know, I read on my phone and signing in to leave a review is a pain. You can leave one without signing in, but I like to respond to my reviewers, so I hope you'll take the extra time.) With Chuck ended the number of readers and reviewers is going down steadily, and some of us feel a bit like we're playing to an empty theater. Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **I always think of stuff to say when I'm doing something else, but the second I get back to these chapters I forget them all.

One thing that bothered me greatly about the Volkoff plot of S4 was its speed. Frost spends twenty years trying, and Sarah and Chuck do the job in what felt like twenty minutes. Sure they can say she'd been gone weeks setting up her cover as a rogue agent, but that's the difference between telling and showing. Not to mention the other critical necessity of S4, from the producers point of view. Having been burnt over S3, they went too far in the opposite direction and had Chuck and Sarah rub their lips together at least once an episode, even if time and space constraints should have made that impossible.

I moved a lot of their together time from S4 back into S3 where it belonged, in the first season of nine2five. Now the time has come to pay the piper, moving their apart time into my version of S4, without the angst. I don't expect anyone to thank me but hopefully it makes more sense this way. Sarah doesn't yet know what Frost's mission really is, but her part in resolving it is crucial.

* * *

"_Good, you're up."_

"_You couldn't even wait five minutes to stab me in the back?" _

"_Sarah was very thorough."_

"_Have faith in him, if not in yourself."_

* * *

Prague, week eight…

"A 'B', Casey?"

"It should have been lower, but I gave you extra points for the stilts," said Casey, behind the wheel as they drove back to the facility. "Face it, Bartowski, you screwed up. Once her friends woke up they'd have had a new playmate, only this time the torture would have been real."

"I knew you had my back," said Chuck, rather weakly.

_On a mission yes, in a scenario no._ So technically Chuck was in the clear, since Casey had split the difference on this one. Fortunately, he was more interested in the lesson than the grade, and Chuck seemed to have learned the lesson. "Sarah knew Bryce had her back, and look how that turned out." Blunt, but it got the point across. "And what was the deal with the blanks, anyway?"

"The fastest way I could think of, to get her to betray me if she was going to."

"And what if she wasn't going to, Chuck?" Casey wouldn't call him moron, idiot, or numb-nuts in private unless he meant it. "Or if she was playing a longer game?"

"If I made it to the door alive I would have told her. Then I would have taken the gun back and reloaded with the real clip I have here in my pocket."

"Rub her face in it, why don't you?"

"Plus, with my gun in her hand she'd also be less likely to stop and search any of the bad guys for their weapons," continued Chuck. "She couldn't be trusted, Casey. As an agent herself, she'd know that."

"You know you've got crap all over your coat?" said Casey. He hadn't managed to poke any new holes in Chuck's strategy so far, but that didn't mean he wouldn't think about it some more. Save that snark for later.

Chuck looked down. The outside of his jacket was smeared with something soft and gooey, in various shades of red. He touched it, examining the glob on his finger. "Great. Lipstick on my collar from a girl who was trying to kill me." The marks on Agent Rizzo's back had been drawn on.

Casey laughed, in that vaguely sinister way he had. "At least Sarah might forgive you for _that_."

Chuck crushed the blob, rubbing his fingers together. "I'd let her catch me and Agent Rizzo in bed if it just meant she was there to catch me."

"I'm sure the last minute of your life would be very happy."

Chuck wiped his fingers on his coat. "Tell me about Agent Rizzo."

"Sorry, sport, can't help you." And didn't Casey sound thrilled about _that_. "Carina contacted me by back-channels and asked me to set up a meet that wouldn't look like a meet. That scenario seemed like the best place."

_And she had to trick the messenger into delivering._ "Why so secret?" _What message?_

"I don't know," said Casey. "I hope Rizzo leaves Carina alive, she's thrown us more questions than answers so far. Keep that picture under your hat."

"Picture?" asked Chuck, recalling Sarah's image in the club from his almost-perfect memory. "What picture?"

* * *

Washington DC, week six…

The first thing Hannah did when she received the photo from Carina was make a copy for the permanent record. The second thing was to make a copy for the dataset inbox.

Then she put another copy in the facial recognition app and wait for a report. Well, not _wait_, exactly, there was always stuff to be done, so it was quite a while before she realized she still hadn't gotten any output.

So she put it in again.

And waited some more.

* * *

Somewhere in Russia, in a place overlooking the approaches to Volkoff's compound that wasn't nearly as good as the place she'd been at before, but you don't return to an overlook that you know the enemy knows you know about, still week six…

"Okay, Bedrock, thanks for trying." Carina wasn't in Russia to keep a 24/7 watch on the compound, they'd need a team for that. She was there to be hands if they needed them, and to her mind this qualified. Her hands removed the transponder from her ear, cutting her connection to Hannah. Her hands pulled out a burner cell, and entered a number from memory. "Z? It's me. You know that old business I sent you earlier?...Facial Rec ate it…Yeah, that's right, ate it…No, our girl's not stupid, she put it under a rock. Can you do me a little favor and play courier? I'll call my guy in Prague to set up a new skin for you…no, it's not a scam. I'm stuck on overwatch, I got a bounceback from Amy and I have no one else to ask...Thanks, Z." Carina ended the call and immediately placed the second. "Dirtnap, I got something for you…"

* * *

Volkoff's compound, still week six…

"Ah, Vivian, good morning, and what a splendid morning it is," said Alexei, as his daughter joined him at breakfast. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you."

Vivian was glad to see him so happy. Last evening had been a marvelous time for both of them, but nothing to merit such effusive praise. "Congratulate _me_, Father? Whatever for?" She sat opposite, and a servant put her usual fruit plate before her. She speared an out-of-season strawberry and put it in her mouth.

"Agent Walker completed her task last night," said Alexei.

Vivian chewed the fruit into flavorless mush, and swallowed. "Did she?" She put her fork down.

"Yes, and by all accounts it was a spectacular success," said Alexei. "Gilles and all of his cronies dead, his house pillaged, and razed to the ground. More than I could ever have hoped for. Miss Walker truly is the CIA's best!"

"Well, it certainly sounds like you got your money's worth," muttered Vivian.

"Oh, mere money would never motivate an agent of Miss Walker's caliber to such heights," said Volkoff dismissively. "Was it money that motivated you to suggest we manipulate Gilles' cronies to gather themselves around her? No, that was inspiration, my dear, that was genius. Truly you are a Volkoff."

Vivian stabbed a hideously expensive slice of peach. _Take that, Sarah Walker!_

"Yes," said her father, "Eat up, eat up. We must go over the reports together."

* * *

A little later, same day, same place…

She woke, her head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. She couldn't have had too much to drink last night. Without a bartender to make sure she was sent nothing but colored water, she'd rationed her intake carefully, so the alcodote pills she took could handle it. Even so she remembered Frost having to help her back to bed afterward. And then…

And then…

And now she was here. She sat up, suddenly cold as the room's air hit her body, clad only in last night's lingerie. She never wore stuff like this to bed, Chuck couldn't–

Her breath caught. Chuck wouldn't–

_He will, Sarah_, said the voice in her head, and she shivered.

He had to. She didn't know _what_ he had to do, but he had to do it.

She flung off the covers, unable to keep still. She ran for the bath, but drew up short at the sight of the gleaming tile, and the tub, suddenly conscious of how she reeked of bloo–of sweat. She used the facilities and went to wash her hands in the sink. The water came out rust-colored and she shut it off. She eyed the tub again but couldn't even think about using it. She tried the sink again and this time the water ran clear.

She grabbed a small cloth and bathed standing up. Her arms stung from numerous scratches. She couldn't remember Gilles scratching her last night.

She couldn't remember…the cotton muffled her thoughts, and she stopped trying to dig through it. Last night was last night. Done. In the past.

* * *

A tap on the door. "Come in."

The door opened, and Frost entered. "Miss Walker," she said, "Are you ready? Alexei would like his moment."

Sarah twitched her top straight, looking at herself in the mirror. The ensemble suited her, all blacks and grays, a costume of smoke and shadow. Only her eyes were wrong. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

The doors opened on the sound of applause. Alexei stood behind his desk, as usual, a broad smile on his face, hands clapping with an almost painful vigor. His daughter stood to one side, her face set, her decorous applause unheard under Alexei's deafening enthusiasm.

"Miss Walker, _bravissime,_" he called out, as if the people in the other wings needed to hear him.

For a second Sarah felt an obscure and absurd impulse to curtsy.

Alexei stopped his clapping, and Vivian immediately dropped her hands as well. "My daughter and I were just going over the reports of your work, and I must say, I am impressed."

"We did supply the means, Father," said Vivian.

He waved that away. "All the tools in the world are worthless without the proper craftsman, and Agent Sarah Walker is more than just a craftsman, she is an _artist_ of death." Frost winced at the accolade, but no one was looking at her. "Truly I am in your debt."

Sarah had learned to beware of Volkoff's language of debts and obligations. "I was paying off a debt already."

"Indeed you were, Agent Walker," said Volkoff. "But I can only claim Gilles himself against you. When I sent you into his den of iniquity I had no idea he'd gather the rest of his pack." Volkoff gestured at a screen full of pictures, partially-remembered faces with large red Xs covering them. "You have done me, and the female population of Europe, a great service. The House of Volkoff is at your command."

"I missed one, I see."

"Hmm?" Volkoff looked behind him, at the screen with the faces. "Oh, yes, him." Volkoff pressed some keys, and the marked faces dropped from the screen while the one grew larger. "No surprises there, I'm afraid. Not all of Gilles' business associates shared his personal proclivities. This one removed himself and his operations to South America some time ago. Last night's event wouldn't have lured him back."

"His name is Augusto Gaez."

Volkoff called up some documents, as if he needed them to know the name of this one remaining enemy. "Yes, yes it is." He looked up, the documents fading as Gaez' face moved to a larger screen. "You know him?"

"He was the target of a long-term mission, years ago," said Sarah, nostrils flaring. "He always seemed to know our next move."

Volkoff sank back into his chair. "You had a mole?" he asked, sounding sympathetic.

A frown joined the nostril-flare. "I could never prove it. I found a hidden transmitter in my teammate's boot, but she denied knowing anything about it, and a lie-detector test backed her up." Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor. "We didn't work so well together after that."

"So you could never get him." The image of Gaez winked out.

"No."

"That must…" Volkoff shook himself "_Sting_." He held up a finger. "The one that got away, the one you could never catch."

She'd lost friends over it. "You have no idea."

"Actually I do, Miss Walker," said Volkoff. "I've had to learn to play the long game myself, a time or two. Our late, unlamented friend Gilles, for example." Volkoff knew when to stop talking.

"I got Gilles for you," said Sarah. "Can you get Gaez for me?"

"After what you did to my man?" Volkoff slashed a hand in front of his eyes, and shook his head. "The rest of them would rather shoot you than help you."

"Can you help _me_ get him?"

"Logistics and support?" Volkoff looked at Vivian, then back at Sarah. "That I can do, but after that we're quits."

"Absolutely."

He leaned forward in his chair. "I expect we should be able to bring it off with approximately two to three weeks lead time. Thanks to Google Maps I don't even need to move my satellite!"

Sarah nodded. "Sounds right."

He stood up, gesturing to his main lieutenant. "You will work with Frost for those weeks, to develop your plan of attack, train at my facilities, and I will supply the materiel to make it happen. I will give you the opportunity, but success will be in your hands alone. You will not return here."

Make her own way from Brazil? Piece of cake. "Agreed." Home! Home to her man, her heart. Her soul.

"Done." Volkoff stepped forward, and they shook on the deal.

"Father?"

"Yes, Vivian?"

"Your cozy arrangement doesn't include room or board. If we are now working for Miss Walker, how is she prepared to compensate us for her stay here? This isn't a hotel."

He pounded the desk with his fist. "Blast!"

* * *

Vivian listened to her heart beating, the loudest noise in the room. Her father sat at the desk, earnestly discussing the details of Miss Walker's stay, now that she'd 'reminded' him of that little detail. Played her part in his game. Again.

_Will no one rid me of this miserable Agent?_

Frost shifted her position and Vivian looked her way. A small smile came to her lips, quickly crushed. "Father?" she said, with no small amount of genuine pain in her voice. "If you'll excuse me?"

She was already in motion, almost out the door before she heard his quick command. "Frost." Vivian slowed her pace. It wouldn't do to lose her prey.

"Miss Volkoff," said Frost, coming up behind her to the proper distance. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Frost," said Vivian. "Just a bit…nauseated, that's all."

"What have you eaten today?"

Typical. Her first thought is enemy action. "No, no," said Vivian, walking faster now that she had her target in tow. "Nothing like that. I was just… watching them in there, thinking how...how _cozy_ they looked, and then you moved. In that instant I knew what Sarah Walker was going to be, and I thought, is this the way he rewards thirty years of service?"

Frost made a slight noise, and Vivian glanced back, to see a slight smile on her face. "What do you find so amusing?"

"Just that I had already come to the same conclusion about you," said Frost with her usual candor.

"Sarah Walker could never take _my_ place, that's absurd!"

"Of course it is," said Frost. "I meant that _you_ had already displaced _me_."

"I could never replace you, Frost," said Vivian, as they drew near the door to her suite. "Father is grooming me, as his heir. If anything my need for your services would be greater than ever."

Frost nodded. "You'll have them."

Vivian placed a hand on Frost's arm. "I can't afford to lose you to one of Father's whims."

"I'm not going anywhere." Frost smiled, something she rarely did.

Vivian drew back her arm, fumbling with the door, but eventually got it open. "Thank you, Frost. You may return to Father now."

Frost nodded her head again, the good servant. "Yes, ma'am."

Vivian closed the door and turned away. Her arms went up and she unclasped the necklace that held her greatest treasure, the glass eye her father had given her.

It was absurd, wasn't it? Wasn't it? He couldn't replace her.

Could he? He couldn't replace this eye, until...until suddenly he could. Hydra. Cut off one head and it grows another. Good for the hydra, not so good for the head that got cut off. Then what was it? Nothing. An empty, meaningless trinket.

_Replace me? With her?_

She hurled the sphere to the ground, followed by a small statue, a bust of Shakespeare, and a three-volume, leather-bound set of his collected works.

She barely heard the knocking at her door over the rasping of her breath, the pounding of her heart. "What is it?" The screaming in her head.

"Miss Volkoff?" Frost's voice.

Blast and damn. How perfectly awful. Perfect and awful at the same time. Frost had to know, but if she knew then no one else would have to. "Come in."

Frost opened the door, and took in the sight of the small pile. She closed the door behind her, quickly.

"This must remain between us," said Vivian.

"It will, ma'am."

Vivian turned her back on it all. "Dispose of this trash, would you please?"

A box for the keepsakes. A broom and dustpan for the shattered eye. Wouldn't want to miss any of that. "Certainly."

* * *

Washington DC, week eight…

As Roan and Diane exited the restaurant, a young lady walked in, a young man in tow. Roan pulled the flower from his lapel and handed it to the scared-looking young man as he passed. With a casual gesture toward the young lady, he murmured, "Trust me, it's a classic."

As he courteously allowed Diane to settle into the limo first, he looked through the window, and saw the young lady smell the flower her date had unexpectedly given her, latched onto his arm. The poor boy still looked terrified, but there was only so much Roan could do at such short notice. "Ah, the follies of youth," he murmured, getting into the car.

"What follies?" said Beckman, looking in the window but seeing nothing unusual. "Whose youth?"

"All men are fools, when they are young," said Roan. "It's a defining characteristic."

"Were _we_ fools, Roan?"

Roan was nobody's fool. He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. "If we were, there's no time like the present to learn wisdom." Especially not today of all days. "Just say the word, my flower."

She released his hand, and touched his cheek. "I think things are just getting interesting."

She looked happy, and relaxed, for the first time in weeks. He would have liked to think it was him, but he knew it was just the one phone call. "Ah, your favorite student, Mr. Charles." _I must remember to thank him._

She ran her fingers into Roan's hair. "My favorite student is right here with me. Mr. Charles is a distant second to you in every way."

Roan cleared his throat. "Not…every way, my darling."

"No?"

"Mr. Charles is by far the most unseduceable man I've ever known."

Her grip tightened in his hair. "And who's been seducing you, lately?"

"No one but you, my love," he said, wincing. "But I at least notice the attempt. Mrs. Charles fills his heart, his mind, so thoroughly he has no awareness of anyone else."

She relaxed her hand. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't. However, like me, he seems to learn best by doing. I have the perfect mission for him."

"Leave for Prague tomorrow."

"Yes, my General. And tonight?"

Diane Beckman kissed with the same take-no-prisoners style as she did everything else. "Tonight we're going to see about filling that pesky awareness of yours."

* * *

**A/N2 **When I first had Carina take that photo, I had no idea what a big deal it would turn out to be. A lot of this story turns on happy accidents like that.


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